•When Dazai left, Chuuya watched Akutagawa spin out of control with no chance of stopping him. Akutagawa wouldn’t listen to him or anyone else, and Mori said let him be. •Chuuya was dealing with his own fallout because you don’t lose your partner, good friend, lover (or whatever floats your boat!) and come out unscathed. They saw each other grow and how could he have not noticed that Dazai was prepared to do that.
•He lets Akutagawa self destruct for about a year before intervening and reigning him in. He’s observed enough and knows Akutagawa needs someone to put a cap on him, Dazai taught him to be that way, dependent.
notes: at this
point it’s just quantity > quality bc I have to go somewhere later in the
month and wanna finish stuff on time so…OTL
Sasuke tells Sakura he wants to change his hairstyle and…grow it out.
shrieked. Her laugh came out like a banshee cackle, shrill enough to break each
window of their newly rebuilt house.
“What—are you serious, anata?”
She’d taken to calling him anata since their marriage, less than a month ago.
“Hn.” Sasuke sat straight up on the stool, gazing intently
at his troubled reflection in the mirror. His right hand fingered the spikes
unhindered by gravity; he flicked them up and down with his finger.
“B-But why?” Sakura asked. She wrapped her arms around
Sasuke from behind and pressed her chin on the top of his head. She pouted.
Sasuke blushed and turned away, refusing to acknowledge how cute she was when
she did that.
“I…need a change.”
Sakura’s warmth escaped him. “Eh?” Sakura said. “Why so
sudden? You’ve kept this hair for so long. It’s not you without it!” She frowned. “Now Naruto and I won’t be able to
make fun of your chicken butt.”
“…and the grammy for record of the year goes to…..Chandelier by Sia!”
Sia, cloaked in darkness walks up to the stage, her face completely covered, she is moving at a slow pace, the audience is progressively looking more awkward, pan to a shot of Rihanna looking uncomfortable. As she makes her way up to the stage, a shot of Taylor Swift looking pensively at Sia is shown. Sia finally gets to the mic, with a black lace mask covering her face, she cackles loudly and cacophonously, vanishing in a poof of smoke like a banshee in the night, her voice echoing through the crowd, creating bewilderment and disorientation. Sam Smith is crying and Prince wonders why he didn’t do that.